fast-forward to those gallant heavens, invisible
by sanskrits
Summary: — isn't this that kind of thing, a heavenly sin?


**written for tgs '12 days of christmas' and ilvermorny 'beaded bag: alphabet soup'**

 **ilvermorny:**

 **prompt:**

 **F:**

 **(color) forest green**

 **G:**

 **(pairing) Ginny Weasley/Tom Riddle**

 **(phrase) gone with the wind**

 **H:**

 **(word) harmonious**

 **(quote) "Heavenly sins? I didn't think such a thing existed. Until I met you, darling."**

 **I:**

 **(word) invincible**

 **tgs:**

 **prompt:**

 **8.** _ **eight maids a milking:**_ **write about someone with a severe allergy**

 **school, house: hogwarts, slytherin**

 **points: 5**

 **word count: 724**

 **a/n: had no inspo for the tgs prompt so i went crazy with the ilvermorny ones**

 **if you haven't noticed, i've tried to make all my stories for the beaded bag have titles starting with the letters i'm writing for, idk, had a hard time of it here so i had to add 'to those'** _ **cries**_

. . .

Ginny has a diary, and Ginny likes to talk to the boy in it.

(He is a boy and he is a man and he is in-between. He is everything.)

 _Dear Tom,_

 _I don't know what to do about Harry —_

— _Forget about Harry,_ the swift, neat writing replies. _What is he to you when you are so much more?_

. . .

 _Dear Tom,_

 _Hagrid complains about his missing chickens. I find feathers in my robes._

. . .

 _Dear Ginny,_

 _It was me. I hope you don't mind my temporary possession._

. . .

 _Dear Tom,_

 _Why?_

. . .

 _Dear Ginny,_

 _Because I am nothing, a ghost. And I need to be something._

. . .

 _Dear Tom,_

 _You are already everything; you are my everything._

. . .

And slowly she is lured into him, that devil with the ambition and the charm.

And slowly he is lured into her, that angel with the arguments and the fire.

(And slowly, they become men and women and girls and boys and in-between; everything.)

. . .

When he takes her to the Chamber, she goes willingly; when he tries to take her life force, she is not as willing.

"Tom — I will find another way," she promises, more than ghost but less than human. "You are my everything, and I will do _anything_ to get you."

His previous conviction seems diminished. But still he looks doubtful. "How?"

Her eyes shine with resolve. She has fallen for him, and all of her morals are gone with the wind because what does it matter _when she is meant to be so much more?_

"I will find another way," she repeats. "I will find another way, I promise you."

(He is again nothing but then he is still everything.)

. . .

She does.

The answer, she knows, lies in the halls of Hogwarts; so she searches and she searches and she falls upon a room with a multitude of hidden things.

And there it is: the Stone. The one that grants Life.

She'd recognized it from everything her parents had talked about and everything Ron had described it as and the extensive library research she'd done on immortality and life. Ginny had even made a few drawings of it in her fascination.

She takes it in her palms, seeing the liquid on its surface, memorizing every ridge, every nook in it.

(It is everything. Invincible. It grants a freedom from Death, the inevitable, and who had been so naïve as to think _that_ kind of freedom could be so simply destroyed?)

. . .

And so she again finds herself in the Chamber; hissing at the sink in learned Parseltongue from the sharp Tom's lessons.

Tom lives in the diary. She writes in it, _Take a little of me and then I will give you the rest. I have a way._

It happens then — she feels him taking over a little piece of her, and she feels him pulling away a little, and they're harmonious in that way: they're each other.

She holds out the Stone and a little vial in which is a forest-green liquid.

"The Elixir," she explains. "Drink."

She hands it to him, and greedily he gulps it down like it is heaven and he is sinning with it. And isn't this that kind of thing, a heavenly sin? The defying of death and its order?

Sins are punished, but Ginny will take hers if she gets him.

Greedily he gulps down the drink and greedily she watches the life return to him — until he begins to hack and cough and spit it out and his face is turning all red and _What's happening?_

"Tom?" she asks tentatively. "Tom!"

She rushes forward as he begins to gag, heaving for breath. Gasping, gasping, he falls, and manages to croak, "Can't — can't breathe…"

"Tom!" screeches Ginny. "No, no, no, no." She stays by his side, sobbing, "No! Tom, we'll — we'll find another way, it'll be alright...no, Tom, Tom —"

"Think...I'm...allergic...what...is it?"

"The Sorcerer's Stone — but Tom, it gives you life...please, don't leave me. We can get through this. No, no, no!" she cries. "No…"

"Flamel…" he mutters. "Ginny...I —"

But she can't hear what he's about to say: the light dims out of his eyes and his ragged breathing stops — and then, Tom is truly nothing.

(Sins are punished, and Ginny is taking hers.)


End file.
